The Resistance

I know you did not mean
To become a wicked man,
Grown old, devoid of content,
Hard-shelled, many layers
Added slowly over the years, you
Listened to the snake too long
Were fascinated by the slithery path.
Did you think
The mud you stood in
Would never let you sink?

I know you did not mean
To become wicked.
But now I only see your polished
Armor against the dawn,
Blinkered like some old
Beast of burden,
Rattling loud on cobblestones
In front of the wagon
Of your vocation,
You still deliver the goods,
I do not question your usefulness,
I resist your chainsaw of the silence,
Your tyranny that blots out
The Light.